


The Thing With Feathers

by emmy1024



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bottom Lexa, F/F, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmy1024/pseuds/emmy1024
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lexa and Costia are brutally attacked, the local PD need help identifying the perpetrator. Luckily Clarke Griffin is the best police sketch artist around, and as Lexa opens up slowly, a relationship falls into place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Best Worst Day

Sometimes people who had been exposed to horrific tragedy lost their memory, and in the place of terror a blank space would live. Lexa wasn't quite so lucky. 

She remembered that night with brilliant clarity, from the icy coldness of the pavement beneath her to the press of the steel dumpster above her as she hid. She remembers the cloying smell of iron as Costia's blood spilt out and freed from her body, created rivers of red where only black was before. 

Despite the truly incredible amount of information Lexa had about what had happened, she couldn't force her mouth to describe it. A couple of dog walkers had spotted her, crouched against the brick outside, shaking with her eyes pressed shut and her breath coming quick. When the police came, no amount of coffee could wake them up as well as the sight of Costia's mutilated body did. Lexa hardly remembered it, but they had brought her back to the station, while police swarmed the deserted ally to recover the remains. 

"Alexandria" the gruff man before her tried, holding her ID and frowning at her, "I know tonight has been hard for you, but I need to you help me figure out what happened." He seemed earnest enough, and it wasn't that Lexa didn't want to talk to him, but she just couldn't. She couldn't talk about it, because that would mean that all of this was real and that she would never come home to the girl she loved again. 

He took a deep breath at her continued silence, and silently cursed having the poor fortune of being assigned homicide the one night that the daughter of the richest person in Washington turned up dead in a alley. He decided that before he could continue trying to extricate some sort of information, he needed another coffee. 

"Griffin." It was a greeting, and a plea. Clarke was attempted to slip from the building before she could be forced to work another late night, but at the sound of her name paused. "I need your help, Griffin."

It was rare to hear an admission of weakness from Kane, so she spun on her heel and locked eyes with the man asking her to work through the night. Again. 

"I told you, the ER is the best place to remove foreign objects." She was rarely so quick to tease, but his forthcoming request meant that she could (almost) get away with murder. He didn't even flinch anymore, and instead rolled on with his plan.

"There's a girl in interrogation room four, and so far she hasn't said a word. She was with Costia Woods tonight before she ended up dead." Clarke couldn't help her eyes growing wider at the name of the daughter of the owner of half of the real estate in the state. Still, she was having too much fun to drop the charade.

"If your kind demeanor didn't get her to open up, I doubt I could." Kane didn't have to respond, they both knew Clarke could get anyone to trust her with their life long before Kane could get them to trust him with carrying a letter.

Finally, curiosity gets the better of her, and she pivots towards the exam room, but not before swiping the fresh coffee from Kane.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lexa had never been high, but she imagined that it would feel something like this. No thoughts would connect, she couldn't even form a legitimate sentence in her head, despite having sat in this interrogation room for hours. Any thought she had jumped to extreme tangents - even the room itself, connecting to crime documentaries which circled back to The Horrible Thing which would cause her to shake more, cause her mind to blank and her skin to blanch. 

The door opened, and Lexa still had her eyes fixed on the little coffee stain on the table, trying to remember the last time she and Costia had gone for a coffee date. She was still searching when a soft voice cut through the noise for the first time since It.

"Hey, Alexandria." Clarke had interviewed scores of people after tragedy, but she couldn't remember the last time someone seemed so small. Her fingertips tingled to touch the girl and ground her, but she was able to restrain herself. 

When it became obvious that Lexa wasn't going to talk, Clarke pulled up the chair across from her, and sat down, but not before she pulled her sketchpad from her bag. "Alexandria, my name is Clarke. I am here to try and help you. I'm going to sit here until you want to talk." Clarke knew something instinctively that Kane never seemed to, which was the value in just being present. Clarke sipped at her coffee and began going through her notes from other cases, refining her suspect sketches and putting together psych profiles. She was locked in to her work, only vaguely aware of the steadily slowing breaths of the girl across from her when a soft voice caught her attention.

"Lexa."

When Clarke looked up, the girl looked just as Clarke had left her, her eyes still fixed to the table. Still, Clarke figured the chances of her hearing things were slightly lower than the possibility that the girl had spoken. 

"Lexa." Clarke repeated, trying the name on her tongue for the first time and liking it much more than 'Alexandria'. It was while she was rolling the sound around her mouth that she noticed the scrapes and blood on the dark haired girl. 

"Hey, do you mind if I get the first aid kit? You seem a little scratched up and I figure the last thing you want right now is the ER." Clarke was unsure what she would do if the other girl didn't respond, because while the last thing she wanted was to violate consent, she also knew about the nasty infections that came with road burn. Luckily the decision was not one she had to make, because after a pause Lexa nodded slightly.

Clarke wished the girl had spoken again, but she was still satisfied with a nod. Once she had her bandages and antiseptic, she paused slightly seeing the extent of the damage.

"This is going to hurt, I'm sorry." Clarke felt guilty for intensifying the pain this girl was in, but she gritted her teeth and pressed the wet cotton to the scrapes.

Lexa hissed slightly, and her body tensed below Clarke. Clarke felt the rippling muscles beneath torn skin, and again was struck with the desire to touch Lexa's skin. 

Once most of the asphalt was removed, Clarke laid the dirty bandages on the table and crouched down next to Lexa. In moments like these, she found that her instincts were better than her brain was. She pressed her hand to Lexa's thigh, feeling her own heartbeat racing in her ears. The fog behind Lexa's eyes had begun to clear, and now all she could see was this blonde girl crouching before her, pressing sweaty palms to her torn jeans. Lexa finally allowed their eyes to meet, and the rapid acceleration of her heart threw her off, and again her mind spiraled. Clarke knew she wasn't getting anything out of the girl as far as the murder went, but she was hoping she could get an address so this poor girl could try and sleep before the demons of tomorrow struck. 

"Lexa, I need to take you home. Where is your home, Lexa?" Her voice was one usually reserved for wounded animals, but Lexa didn't mind it in this case.

"Costia is my home." Lexa's voice was small, cracked and incredibly quiet. After a moment, she added, "Was."

Clarke's stomach turned in pity, and before she could think better of it, "Come back to my place for the night, it's right around the corner and we can come back here tomorrow." Technically, it was already tomorrow, but Lexa met Clarke's blue eyes with her green ones, and nodded slightly. 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Clarke's 'apartment' was not exactly her crowning achievement. She spent most of her time at work, and when she wasn't as work she was catching drinks with coworkers or sleeping besides her flavor of the week. When she was home, she was showering off her long day or sleeping entire days away. She hadn't been home in a few days and the slight smell of dirty laundry and unwashed plates was worse than she remembered. After the struggle of leading a basically catatonic Lexa 5 blocks, she was particularly frustrated by the stench, despite it being her own fault. Luckily, Lexa didn't seem to notice, instead pausing in the doorway taking in the space that was, in essence, Clarke.

"Would you like to take a shower, Lexa?" After a quick nod, Clarke went to grab clean pajamas and a bath towel, but not before glancing over her shoulder to make sure the dark haired girl wouldn't evaporate like she looked like she wanted to. 

"Ill be here when you're done." Clarke didn't particularly like the idea of staying up later, but she was sure that she could do it for Lexa. 

After grinding her teeth for a few seconds, Lexa stepped into the bathroom and quickly thereafter the shower was running and Clarke was able to make some instant Ramen while she waited. 

And waited. And waited. It was nearly a half hour later, and the Ramen was cold and Clarke was getting angry. She didn't mean to be, but she had been awake for nearly 24 hours, and as much as the girl in her bathroom intrigued her, she wanted to go the fuck to sleep. When she walked to the bathroom to knock on the door, she noticed it was unlocked and after a significant amount of knocking, she opened it. 

Clarke had a lot of experience as a sketch artist for the police department. She had seen her fair share of shit, and she was expecting Lexa to fall into a category she had seen before. Instead, Lexa had the shower running while she sat in the tub below, fully clothed, staring off into space. Clarke forgot her anger, took a deep breath, and stepped into the bathroom and turned off the shower.

"Lexa, can you hear me?" A slight nod. "Can you stand up for me?" After a moment, Lexa pulled herself to her feet. "Lexa, can I take your clothes off? They're wet." This time Lexa's response was to ball her fists, driving her nails into her palms. "Lexa, I won't do anything against your will. Ever." Maybe it was because Clarke had made good on all of her promises thus far, or maybe it was because Lexa just seemed to instinctively trust the blonde girl, but either way Lexa nodded again.

Slowly, Clarke unbuttoned the flannel shirt and pulled the wet garment from the thin girl. She checked Lexa's face again before unbuttoning the soaked jeans, and pulled them down over the scratches and blood. Another moment and Lexa was naked before Clarke. 

"Sit, Lexa." Clarke made it clear in her tone that Lexa was free to refuse, but Lexa didn't want to refuse. She wanted someone to make her life make sense and Clarke was shaping up to be that someone. She sat. Clarke plugged the tub and filled it with hot water, before grabbed a washcloth. 

"May I wash you, Lexa?" 

"Yes." It was Lexa's most enthusiastic consent thus far, and Clarke was able to breathe a sigh of relief as she gently rubbed the soapy cloth across the girls narrow shoulders and intricate tattoos. She tried to feel brave as she quickly cleaned Lexa's breasts, and both of them chose not to acknowledge the slight intake of breath from Lexa. After Lexa's skin was clean, Clarke's hands went instinctively to the braided hair which held bits of gravel and leaves. 

"May I?"

"Yes."

And so she did, carefully unbraiding the hair and removing debris. She washed gently, and rinsed with water that had since gone cool. Lexa was starting to clear up again, and was able to stand when it was clear she should, and allowed Clarke to dry her and pull pajamas over her. When Clarke led her to the bed, Lexa didn't protest when Clarke laid next to her, and even though it took Lexa a long time to fall asleep, she was able to breathe in Clarke's scent and focus on the sound of the steady breathing next to her.


	2. The Morning After

In the first moments of waking, Lexa was free of the memories of the prior night. Every morning of the last few years had begun this way, with warm arms wrapped around her and a lithe body pressed to her. She could tell it was late morning, and was wondering idly as to why Costia hadn't begun brewing their morning tea. She snuggled tighter into Clarke and began mumbling a sleep drunk "Costia...". The small sound of waking she got in response was not Costia in nature, and realization hit her in waves, crashing over her as she lay in a strangers bed.

Clarke, having just finished the weirdest shift of her life, was not particularly keen on the idea of waking up. Sill, the small sobs coming from the girl in her arms her did the trick, and as soon as she was conscious she was trying to decide what to do with this shell of a person. In the end, Clarke let her instincts do the leg work, and she stretched her hand up from around Lexa's waist until she was pressing her hand to Lexa's shoulder, and began rubbing circles into the soft skin she found there. Lexa's pulse was racing, and Clarke's was likewise - albeit for different reasons. Lexa found the touch grounding, and she was able to follow the sensation of it back to herself. Once she did, and once she met the piercing blue eyes across from her she couldn't help but shiver despite the heat of the room.

"Hey." Clarke's voice was gravelly with the morning, but she had never felt more awake. "Would you like some coffee?" 

The slight wrinkle of Lexa's nose told Clarke that coffee would not be what Lexa needed today. 

"Ok, would tea be better?". A slight nod. 

Clarke wasn't quite sure that she actually -had- any tea in the apartment, but she knew that sometimes on long cases Octavia would talk shop here with a mug of some foul smelling brown liquid, and Clarke was pretty sure that was tea. Lexa was still on the bed while Clarke began brewing coffee and microwaving water. Even Octavia added honey to her drink of choice, and after a few (disgusting) sips and additions of honey, Clarke decided that it was suitable for consumption.

When Lexa took a sip, she was sure that Clarke had never made tea before. Still, she smiled warmly and bit back the thousand scathing remarks about her honey in a cup.

"Clarke," Lexa began. She was starting to come back to herself, and sitting in some hot strangers apartment was not something that anyone other than catatonic Lexa could justify. She was about to ask if she could go home. The words died just as her mouth opened, and her brow furrowed trying to decide what she wanted that was realistic. 

Clarke loved hearing her name on the other girls lips, and while she was trying to clear her head and pull herself into some semblance of a member of the police, she lost the subtle tell which preluded Lexa's breakdown. 

Until Costia, Lexa had been a runner. Even as a little kid, she would take off from the group home and walk for blocks until the pain in her feet surpassed the pain swirling in her head. As she grew older, Lexa became well known for traveling remarkable distances whenever she was upset. If Lexa was a leaf in the wind, Costia was her root. And after she fell in love, Lexa had never felt the need to run away again - she realized that what she was running to was what she had found in the other girl. And so the morning after Costia was butchered, Lexa was reminded why recovering addicts were still addicts. They would fall back on old habits when circumstances change. 

Clarke was still staring at Lexa's full lower lip, wondering just how many citations she would get for kissing this girl, when Lexa abruptly got up. She was still wearing Clarke's clothes, and she dashed to the door, setting her tea down and unlocking the entrance in a single swoop. 

"Lexa, where are you..." and just like that, she was gone. Clarke was left without a clue and a warmth in her stomach.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Clarke was an artist. She had sorta stumbled into law enforcement, as a product of her way of getting people to open up to her. So, she had no idea how to find people (aka the gorgeous girl she had woken up with) with police resources. Luckily, she knew someone who could. 

"Griffin, you look pretty pissy for somebody coming into work so late that she must have gotten laid last night." Octavia was, inexplicably, one of 'those' morning people. Clarke had never gotten to the office before her, and she never seemed to drink coffee besides as a social activity. Clarke threw a easy scowl Octavia's way before unpacking her request.

"Clarke, you realize what you're asking me to do, right? All you have is a name." 

"Are you telling me that you can't do it? Should I ask Monty in special cases?"

Octavia just scowled at her, before pulling up the best police detective tool; Google.

"This girl doesn't even have a Facebook!" Octavia tightened her brow as she always did when working, and kept working through records.

"If this is the girl you're talking about, she was a ward of the state." Octavia flips the laptop around, revealing a 13 year old Lexa, with dark circles beneath her eyes and bruised collarbones. Clarke ground her teeth until she can feel a headache approaching, and nods. Octavia returns to tapping as Clarke tries to untangle her anger at whoever hurt Lexa all those years ago. 

The trick of finding people is finding what they care about. In this case, the search was for where Costia would have spent much of her time as an adult. After a while, they find an apartment bought under a known pseudonym for Costia's father, and once they discovered that the payments were sent in cash and as far as the owner knew two girls lived there, Clarke and Octavia were on their way. 

After a bit of badge flashing, Clarke and Octavia are standing in a quaint apartment. 

"This is it." Clarke said, disappointment showing in her tone at not finding Lexa here.

"How do you know, Clarke? There are a lot of reasons to use a pseudonym, and plenty of girls live together in this city." Octavia was being playful, winking and elbowing the girl beside her. 

Normally Clarke would play along, but she was too angry and worried for it today. 

"It smells like her."

They were quiet. A part of Clarke wanted nothing more than to look around, to rifle through the stuff that made Lexa's home hers, to figure out everything that this girl loved. Her conscious was wiser, however, and eventually Clarke turned to leave. 

"Clarke, you know how much I love helping you get laid," Clarke shot her a glare, even though she wasn't entirely sure if her motivations for finding Lexa were innocent. "But I have 'real work' to do."

It was a running joke between them, and Clarke couldn't help but grin. Octavia gave Clarke a quick hug before leaving, and Clarke was left outside the building without the person she came with or the person she came for. 

Clarke had never been much for aimless wandering, but she was out of ideas and had nothing to do that would be more useful. So she took off walking, and started to feel a bit more at peace. It wasn't until she had wandered to the edge of a park that she felt the need to stop. She sat on the bench there, and watched the families playing and laughing in the heat of the day while she rested.

"How did you find me?"

Clarke spun around to see Lexa, still in Clarke's clothes. The feral look that Lexa had this morning was faded, and she seemed much more pulled together now, despite the slight oddity of her being in pajamas.

"I...I didn't exactly." Clarke was rarely one to lose words, but having stumbled into the one girl she was looking for was enough to do the trick.

"I know you didn't follow me this morning." Lexa paused, and they shared a moment remembering the warmth of being in each other's arms. 

"I...found Costia's apartment. And when you weren't there, I just walked around for a while. I honestly had no idea you would be here."

Lexa had flinched at hearing Costia's name, but she seemed to believe Clarke. She nodded slightly towards the playset, and after a moment of deliberation,

"When I was 14 I lived in a foster home over on 5th" She gestured vaguely to the streets besides them. She paused, trying to phrase her truth in a better way. "And those people were good most of the time, but sometimes temper was lost or..." Lexa ground her teeth, and didn't finish her thought out loud.

"Anyways, when it got to be too much I would come here and sleep in the top of the steps of the play set. I would sometimes find food there in the morning - just a granola bar or whatever. One time, though, I found someone. Costia."

Clarke was quiet. Lexa's voice had caught on Costia's name, and she had stopped before she cried again in front of this virtual stranger. After a pause, Clarke rested her hand on top of Lexa's, and they sat like that for a moment, looking at the playground and feeling the rush of their hearts.

"Lexa, If you're up to it, you should really come to the station with me. They...they want to catch the person who..." Clarke had seen a lot of death, but somehow she couldn't even say the words now. "If we could get a description of that person who did, they would probably be able to start tracking them down."

Lexa didn't seem to hear her, and while Clarke knew that Lexa did in fact, she felt the absurd urge to repeat her words until she got a response.

"Clarke, I'm not sure I can do that."

Clarke was about to argue with Lexa, to assure her she would be safe and protected, when Lexa spoke again,

"I didn't really see much. Well, not a face." She grimaced. "At least, I don't think I did. I can't remember very well. I don't want to."

Clarke took a deep breath, and started tracing circles on the back of Lexa's hand.

"Lexa, that is actually what I do. I mean, I make the sketches - but I also help people work through traumatic memories so we can catch the bad guys." 

"I want to help, Clarke, but I just don't know."

Clarke could see that this was going nowhere, and so she stood, still holding Lexa's hand. 

"I think you should come back to my apartment tonight. I even bought some tea today." She admitted, flushing a brighter pink. Lexa's mouth quirked, a smile that couldn't quite emerge.


	3. Chapter 3

It was still early in the day, and both Clarke and Lexa had little to do. They realized that neither of them had eaten in recent memory, and decided to find somewhere that they both found suitable. 

"Clarke, how it is that you've never tried Middle Eastern food?" Lexa had been raised on it for a while, and while it still made her mouth burn and her stomach hurt, she couldn't go more than a few weeks without some. Clarke raised a skeptical eyebrow, but decided with the amount of trust she was asking from Lexa, she might as well try a new food as a show of good faith. 

There is something about sharing a meal that brings people together, and as Clarke drank a liter of milk and cursed the people who grew the offending ingredients, they were able to feel a bit more at ease together. It was as if the two were always comfortable near each other, and were only discovering that natural comfort now. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"I didn't get a chance to look around your apartment last night." Lexa said as she began to examine the place that Clarke called home. Clarke wasn't particularly proud of it, but it was home. Where Clarke saw unwashed dishes, Lexa could see the cuisine that Clarke knew how to cook (aka macaroni and cheese and scrambled eggs). Lexa moved to the living room, and dragged her fingertips over the picture frames and collected dust as she did so. There was one of slightly younger Clarke, with flushed cheeks and a broad smile, with her arm slung around an older woman and man. 

"Your mom?" asked Lexa, in the sort of question that makes all sorts of assumptions. She still was a bit bitter about anyone who had a stable family growing up, and she couldn't help her tone even with Clarke.

"And stepdad."

Lexa took a deep breath and tried to remind herself to be less envious. There were a few of Clarke and Octavia, wearing their uniforms and with other people. When Lexa came across one of Clarke and a girl their age, holding hands and laughing, she paused. She wanted to ask, and yet while she still didn't know, Clarke could be dating someone and not dating someone. Clarke saw Lexa trying to pull a story from a frame, and decided to fill the silence.

"My ex. Niylah. We ended things civilly, and I was so happy then. Its still nice to look at." Clarke knew that the she was being ridiculous, feeling like the picture was somehow cheating on Lexa, somehow betraying their trust. She turned around, trying to change the subject and focus on anything more relevant. Lexa, on the other hand, was thrilled to find out that Clarke /could/ be attracted to girls, and while she felt the tinge of jealousy, she was mostly pleased with her newfound knowledge. 

"So, Lexa," Clarke began "If the police are going to catch the person that...hurt you, they really need a sketch. There isn't anything else for them to go off of." Clarke felt bad bringing the attack back up, but there was only so long she could go for lunch dates before Octavia bit her head off. 

"I, " Lexa paused, trying to collect herself and still her racing heart. "I remember some things, but I don't remember her face."

"Her." Clarke was already reeling. It wasn't that women didn't commit horrific crimes, but it was certainly not the norm. 

"Yeah." Lexa had spent the whole day making flirty eye contact, but now she stared at the floor. They were both standing in the living room, and the easy sense between them had given way to a tension akin to foreign policy debates. Clarke turned away, going to her kitchen to make herself something hot and caffeinated. 

"Lexa, I'm going to make some coco. Would you like any?" 

"Uh, no thanks." When Clarke looked incredulous (she assumed asking was a formality, who /wouldn't/ like coco?), Lexa smiled, and explained "Too much sugar. Maybe that freshly purchased tea?" And just like that, the tension between them dissipated, and they both giggled at each other. 

Clarke smiled, and went to work. When it came time to add sweetener, Lexa dashed over to Clarke, close enough behind her that she could feel the other girls body heat in the chilly apartment, and stuck her hand beneath the upturned bottle of honey, valiantly protecting her cup of tea from the sugary attack. And when honey spilled all over Lexa's hand, she couldn't help but devolve into another giggling fit. She swung around to rinse her hand, when Clarke grabbed her by the fingertips, and lifted her hand to her mouth. She glanced at Lexa, whose eyes were wide but eager. Clarke let the tip of her tongue extend, and she gently licked the honey from Lexa's hand. When no honey remained, they were still holding hands. 

Lexa had her eyes fixed to their intertwined fingers, entranced with the way that her darker fingers fit perfectly in the spaces left by Clarke's lighter ones. Clarke, on the other hand, was watching Lexa's eyes. They were a forest green, and in the days since they'd met, Clarke had learned to read them. Now they held a anxious anticipation, one that was mirrored in Clarke's own eyes. 

After a few beats, Lexa met Clarke's eyes. She had only time to think about how their blue reminded her of June mornings when she felt the tension between them tighten. Clarke glanced at Lexa's mouth. Lexa knew Clarke was asking permission. And she granted it. 

Clarke tasted of honey and mint. Lexa allowed Clarke to press their mouths together as her heart galloped. After a moment, Clarke pulled back slowly, parting her lips more and staying only a few centimeters away. Lexa sucked in a breath and she reconnected their lips. This time, Clarke sucked Lexa's lower lip into her mouth, and dragged her teeth along it. 

Breathless, Lexa pulled back. She rested her forehead on Clarke's, trying to pull herself together into some semblance of control. When she opened her eyes, Clarke was watching her carefully. 

"I'm sorry, Lexa. I shouldn't have done that." Clarke bites her lip, and Lexa's stomach surges in response. 

"I wanted you to." And suddenly Lexa couldn't maintain eye contact, and chose instead to stare at the floor. 

Clarke takes a deep breath and takes Lexa's hand, and leads her to her sketching table. It was her father's, in a different life. The wood and scratched and worn and stained by ink and paints. Octavia had made fun of it the first time she visited, but after she saw Clarke work at it, she revered the thing and its power for guiding Clarke to draw. 

Now, Clarke pulled up her sketchbook. She flipped to an earlier page. The man staring back at her was one of her first sketches. He was an arsonist, and while kids burned alive an elderly woman had caught a glance. Less than 24 hours after Clarke released her sketch, he was behind bars.

Clarke paged through the worn paper, telling the story behind each case. Lexa had her body pressed close, and Clarke could feel her body heat and her trembling. Clarke was a storyteller, and she gave life to the characters trapped in her pages. She would occasionally pause, and rub a fingertip to a cheekbone, smudging the lead softly. Lexa found herself calming, listening to Clarke's soft voice and rhythmic heartbeat. 

When Clarke turned the next page, Lexa saw it was blank. Clarke shifted slightly and picked up a drawing pencil. She sketches an oval, vaguely face shaped. Her fingertips pressed on Lexa's hand, and after a moment she asked "Was her face like this?"

Lexa knows who the her in question is, and when she pressed her eyes together, she could almost see a face. Clarke kept rubbing circles on Lexa, grounding her. 

And so the two began developing the next portrait in Clarke's sketchbook.


End file.
